I wish someone had told me how many emotions could live in one heart at the same time. It’s possible to feel gratitude and grief in the same breath. That you can adore your child and still feel overwhelmed by what your body can or can’t do. That motherhood — especially motherhood with CP — is not linear, but layered.
When I first became a mom, I expected the love. I even expected the exhaustion. But I didn’t expect the quiet moments of mourning — for the way I envisioned motherhood should be, for the parenting adaptations I’d have to make, for the extra help I’d need.
I didn’t expect to cry because I couldn’t carry my daughter while cooking. Or because I couldn’t rock her to sleep standing up, the way other moms on Instagram did. I didn’t expect the sting of guilt when I had to ask for help for the third time that day.
But I also didn’t expect the strength I’d find in the cracks. The kind of strength that comes not from pushing through — but from surrendering. From saying, “This is hard,” and knowing that doesn’t make me less of a mom — it makes me a real one.
The Grief No One Talks About: Motherhood with CP
Motherhood with a disability comes with a kind of grief that isn’t often spoken out loud. It’s the grief of unmet expectations. Of realizing that even though your love is limitless, your body has limits.
It’s the ache of knowing some things will look different. It’s crying in the dark when you think you should just be thankful — because yes, you are thankful — but your heart is also a little tender.
And that’s okay.
I’ve learned that grief doesn’t mean I don’t love being a mom. It just means I’m human. A mom who loves fiercely, but who sometimes needs to sit in the quiet and feel everything she’s carrying.
The Joy That Surprises You
Oh, but the joy. There is still so much joy in motherhood with CP. The joy sneaks up on you — in the soft weight of a baby asleep on your chest. In the tiny hands that reach for yours without hesitation. In the giggle that bursts out at your silly dance, even if your movements are a little slower, a little offbeat.
There is so much joy in doing things your own way. In figuring out what works for your body and your family. In making memories not based on “normal,” but on what’s possible — and sometimes, what’s magical.
And Everything In BetweeN
Some days I’m full of joy. Some days I feel the grief more. Most days? I’m somewhere in between — sipping coffee with one hand and holding my baby with the other, whispering to myself, You’re doing it. You’re enough.
Disabled motherhood isn’t black and white. It’s a palette of colors — some bright, some deep, all beautiful. And every single one of them belongs.
To the Mama Walking This Path
If you’re reading this and feeling all the things — I want you to know: you’re not alone. You are allowed to grieve and celebrate in the same breath. You are allowed to feel strong and fragile all at once.
Motherhood isn’t about doing it perfectly. It’s about loving deeply, showing up, and being real — and you are doing that every single day.
So to the mama walking this beautiful, complicated, extraordinary path of disabled motherhood: I see you. I honor your journey. And I promise — this kind of love? It’s more than enough.
What was your transition into motherhood like? Share your thoughts with me below.
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